“You had not heard of it?”
“I had not.”
Again I happened to glance at Pepster and saw him gazing as intently at Lady Clevedon as he had done at Thoyne. For the most part he had sat listening to the evidence with partly closed eyes, as if it were very little concern of his. Only with Ronald Thoyne and now with Lady Clevedon had he seemed at all keenly interested. Evidently there was more in Sir Philip’s mysterious engagement—known apparently to Thoyne, but not to Sir Philip’s own relatives—than had appeared. The coroner glanced sideways at Pepster, who nodded his head slightly as if answering an unspoken question in the affirmative, upon which the coroner thanked Lady Clevedon for her evidence and dismissed her.
CHAPTER IX
WHAT KITTY CLEVEDON SAID
The next witness was Miss Kitty Clevedon herself and I confess I awaited her coming with more than ordinary interest. Of one thing I was certain, that she would say exactly what she wanted to say and not a word more, and that no intrusive scruples would confine her too urgently to the truth, unless, indeed, the fact that she was on oath might have any influence with her, which I doubted. I have always found that a woman’s conscience is in that respect far more elastic than a man’s. She took her seat in the witness’s chair and glanced round her with thoughtful calm, nor was her tranquillity in the least abated when she saw me watching her. There was certainly not the faintest suggestion in her manner that my presence disturbed her in the slightest, or, indeed that she had ever so much as seen me before. The coroner took up the hatpin.
“Have you ever seen this before?”
“Many times. It belongs to Lady Clevedon.”
“Have you ever borrowed it?”
“Often.”
“Did you wear it when you visited Mrs. Halfleet on the day—er—the day of Sir Philip Clevedon’s—er—decease?”